Kenning

Today,  I am thinking about Anglo-Saxon English. I spent much of my afternoon at an outdoor cafe by this statue that the townspeople call "La Fountaine Moussue" (the mossy fountain) but which my British assistant friends and I know is really a leafy rendering of some sort of Mushroom. "Meet me at the mushroom" may have an unfortunate resonance for some, but not for us.

Sipping my miniature coffee and nibbling my miniature cookie, feeling a bit like Gulliver chez les Lilliputians, I am preparing for the GRE literature exam, trying to keep my flashcards away from le mistral.

Right now, I am reading in the Norton Anthology about "Kenning."

"Kenning" is the term for when, in Anglo-Saxon English, "a compound of two words takes the place of another." The Norton gives a few examples that tickle me pink, such as when "SEA" is termed "WHALE-ROAD" or "BODY" is called "LIFE-HOUSE." ("I'll tell ya - my Lifehouse sure is cold in this Whaleroad!")

I picture a barbaric Anglo-Saxon rudely forcing out the syllables. But then I think…. Well, actually, modern English is not a far leap from this kind of literalism.

In Britain, a stove is called a "cooker" - thing that cooks. The thing that elevates you to the next level of the apartment is an elevator. That which lies outside the norm is an outlier.Why can't we call our bodies "life houses"?

And so many words are like that, but with hidden roots… In old English, "Gar" mean "Spear" and "Leek" means "vegetable." "Garlick" therefore is "A vegetable that looks like a spear."

In English, drop a hyphen into anything, or squish two words together and you have a perfect compound.

Maybe we could also make it contextual and whimsical. For instance, this week. if we apply kenning to Modern American English, "affirmative action" might be rendered "Woman-binder."

English is just that beautiful and whimsical.

And I hope that each of my days here continues to be.